Adventures in Booze
by crabby crab
Summary: “And th’ street’s only spinning a little right? Besides, ya shouldn’t worry ‘bout it—ain’t everyday you’re in Soul Society and willing to go out. Gotta take advantage, right?” Renji grinned. Eventual Ren/Ichi.
1. The Worst PickUp Line

**The Worst Pick-Up Line, or Adventures in Booze Prequel– At the Bar**

Matsumoto flipped her hair nonchalantly, saying, "'When's the last time you were titty-fucked?'"

Shuuhei barely managed to finish swallowing his sake before bursting into wheezy laughter. Renji was almost crying, pounding his hand on the table so hard the other patrons of the little bar were glaring at the group.

Yumichika smirked, then said, "I think I just might be able to top that." Shooting a dirty look at Ikkaku he continued, his tone haughtier than normal. "'Let's get drunk and take advantage of each other. Or, I could get drunk and you could just take advantage of me. Or, you can stay here and get drunk and I can go home and take advantage of myself. Either way, it's up to you.'"

Ikkaku gave a casual shrug, a small smile. "You say it's the worst pick-up line you've heard, but you still came back with me."

"Well, your head was so shiny and just made it so easy to follow you that late at night."

A low, but rising, grumble began to emanate from Ikkaku's vicinity, but Shuuhei put out a hand, cutting him off. "I think mine is worse. I heard a guy from the 11th trying to pick up a girl from the 4th with, 'Can I buy you a drink or do you just want the money?'"

A hand waving a little too enthusiastically in contempt brought the focus around to Kira, his vibrantly pink face easily drawing attention as he scoffed. "At least that's subtler than mine. I got, 'Hey babe, wanna make an easy fifty?'" Shuuhei raised an eyebrow gave a small salute with his cup of sake before pouring it down his throat.

Complaints that Shuuhei's was only one he'd overheard began circulating the table, Ikkaku gesturing wildly to emphasize his point. Ichigo was swaying in his seat, quieter than normal but his eyes following each new speaker in the conversation intently. Yumichika watched his eyes track Renji as he left the table, shouting, "Next round on me!" above the noise. He leaned in close to Ichigo, his own body wobbling unsteadily as he did so. "What about you, kid? You can't hold out on us, not when we've been treating you."

Ichigo started and was silent for a moment, a growing blush visible even under his alcohol-reddened cheeks. He hesitated a moment. "'I shaved my cock for you,'" he muttered quickly.

Yumichika immediately perked up, scooting even closer to Ichigo. "What?" A wide grin was spreading across his face. "What'd you just say?"

The blush only worsened. "I said it," he said, defiance clear in his eyes. "It's not my fault if you didn't hear it."

His face firmly held the comically stoic expression of someone drunk yet unable to accept the fact, in spite of Yumichika's merciless onslaught of pointed jibes. He only relented once his attention was drawn away again, as Renji worked himself through the crowds back over to their table, fresh bottle in hand. Ichigo perked up, staring greedily at Renji as he pulled his cup of sake close in both hands.

The bench shuddered as Renji plunked himself back down beside Shuuhei, arm tossed casually around the dark-haired man's shoulder while he teased Kira and Matsumoto, oblivious to the young boy's stares. Ichigo seemed to lean forward in his seat as Renji laughed, pulling Shuuhei closer.

Yumichika's own laugh rang out clearly even in the noisy bar. He leaned over to Ikkaku, a touch wobbly himself, and whispered, "Oh, Renji's gonna have fun with this one tonight," indicating Ichigo with a nod of the head.

Raising an eyebrow, Ikkaku stopped the brimming cup just before his lips. "He wouldn't. Ichigo's just a kid. 'Sides, I don't think Renji's interested."

"Renji might not've noticed, but the kid's definitely up for something. And I don't mind helping him along. It'll make things interesting."

"You're such a bastard sometimes." Ikkaku snorted, then downed his sake.

"He'll thank me later." Yumichika's lips curled up, the pleased smile of a born-schemer at home on his beautiful face.


	2. Why Are My Lungs Itchy?

**Why Are My Lungs Itchy? or, Adventures in Booze**

Renji couldn't help but laugh as Ichigo stumbled against him again.

"Wha's so funny?" Ichigo's reddened face glared up into Renji's only slightly flushed one, and laughter burst from him once again.

As soon as he regained his breath, Renji managed to wheeze out, "You're completely trashed, ya know that, right?" He could immediately tell by the offended look slowly spreading across Ichigo's face that he believed otherwise.

"No'm not!" To prove this very obvious fact, Ichigo straightened up and focused his eyes on the pavement just to check that he was walking a straight line.

This time Renji was prepared to catch him as he stumbled. "See? Fuckin' trashed. This's what happens when ya wait until you're legal on Earth to start drinking. Ya gotta build up a tolerance early. 'Specially if ya go out drinkin' anywhere near Matsumoto or Ikkaku."

Moving Ichigo's arm around his shoulder, Renji began heading back down the street that led toward his quarters. "Well, I guess that was my idea, not yours." Renji managed to sound at least a little rueful as Ichigo stared up into his face suspiciously.

"You jus' wanted ta get me drunk, I bet! An' don' worry, I'm not really drunk. Jus' a little sleepy 's all. 's late." Ichigo staged a little yawn, which quickly led to a truly jaw-popping one. His hand muffled his words. "I wouldn' get drunk that fast."

"It wasn' fast, idiot. We were there at _least_ three hours, and you weren't takin' it easy. Yumi's sure as hell gonna be hungover tomorrow, Kira might not even wake up until Sunday, and I counted a'least ten different drinks going down your own delusional lil' throat, not to mention what I didn't see."

Ichigo's mouth opened in protest, but Renji cut him off. "And th' street's only spinning a little right? Besides, ya shouldn't worry 'bout it—ain't everyday you're in Soul Society and willing to go out. Gotta take advantage, right?" Renji grinned. He had made sure not to indulge in too much himself, knowing the state Ichigo would be reduced to if he was unprepared for their drinking partners, and admittedly interested in seeing it.

Ichigo ignored him, instead looking at the hand that wasn't pulled over Renji's shoulder. "Hey, why's my hand feel funny?" He shakily held it up in front of Renji's nose for closer inspection.

"Dunno, what'd you do to it?" Renji was feeling rather fond of this childish and decidedly mellower Ichigo.

Confusion clouded Ichigo's eyes. "Nothin'. 'Sides…why's my lungs all itchy?"

Renji's rumbling laughter drew looks from the few other night-owls still on the streets. "Dunno. Why're ya so funny when you're drunk?"

Ichigo took his time deliberating, before stating ever-so-solemnly, "'Cause I like it when you laugh."

Renji stumbled himself, glancing quickly down at Ichigo's alcohol-reddened face and back up. He hesitated, his own face reddening a little more before he asked, a touch less patronizingly, "And what d'ya mean by that? Sayin' somethin' like that, people could interpret it all wrong."

Ichigo frowned, brows sinking deeply down even as he leaned with more weight on Renji's shoulder, his eyes on the packed earth their feet continued to pass over. "You look really nice when you laugh. I wan'ed you to be happy and you laughed harder and harder when we was drinkin'".

He paused briefly, affection seeming to wash away some of the alcohol haze, "I liked it." Suddenly his face turned back up to meet Renji's, eyes squinted angrily as he almost shouted, "'s not dumb! Don' say that!"

Renji's face was almost as red as Ichigo's, was almost as red as his hair. "I _didn't _say that, dumbass! You're just jumpin' ta conclusions. And be quiet, for fuck's sake, it's like two o'clock in the morning!"

Incoherent grumblings still reached Renji's ears as he looked up, noticing with relief they had almost reached the Sixth Division's barracks. "We can talk about it later, ya ain't anywhere near coherent enough ta talk about this kinda shit right now."

"Am so! Best time. 'm not so fuckin' nervous, you know?" Ichigo's words were slurring together more and more the faster he tried to speak. " 'Cause I used to be kinda confused—I mean, I should like girls like Orihime or Matsumoto, right? But then this guy in one a my college classes came up ta me, and we start hangin' out a little bit, then next thing I know, I've just fucked a guy! A fuckin' _guy_!" Renji choked a little, Ichigo watching him with wide eyes to make sure he understood the importance of the word "guy". "But I liked it better'n any a'the girls I messed around with."

Renji couldn't help raising an eyebrow, in spite of his rising embarrassment. "Fuck, kid, you been messin' around with that many people?"

Ichigo gave an exaggerated snort. "Well, not that many. But I didn't know what I wanted, tryin' to figure it out. Just took me a bit." He smirked a little too provocatively for Renji's comfort and brought his free hand up to brush clumsily at a stray wisp of Renji's hair. "'Sides, it wasn' like anybody complained."

Renji stopped short, Ichigo staggering forward a step past him; the lingering touch of Ichigo's trembling hand was affecting him in a way he wasn't prepared for. Suddenly, he felt Ichigo's lips brush lightly across his ear as a whispering voice crept inside. "And now I know m' way around a body well enough, too." Ichigo's hand was suddenly touching his stomach, the fingers dancing in far too delicate a manner for someone as far gone as he was, and moving lower with alarming speed.

"Whoa, slow down there, dumbass!" Renji jerked himself away from Ichigo and his roving hand, irritation helping to push back his discomfiture as their contact was broken. "First of all, we're out in the goddamn street! And secondly, how do ya know if I'm even into this stuff?"

Ichigo, unfazed that their contact was broken, smirked triumphantly, much to Renji's dismay. "Yumichika's got one helluva big mouth, an' when you went to th' bathroom, he started teasing Shuuhei 'bout you two being fuck-buddies once upon a time, so ya can't try and pretend to like girls. Or even if ya do, you fucked one guy, you might fuck another." Ichigo moved closer again. "I wasn' sure 'bout you until ta'night, but after I figured myself out, I can't say I wasn' hopin'".

Renji was starting to feel uneasy at the turn the conversation had taken, not to mention being frustrated that Ichigo, and a plastered Ichigo at that, was steering it. "I'm, what, around eighty years older than you? Of course I've fucked some people, you don't need ta worry about who they were! And why the fuck are you interested in _me_?!"

Ichigo frowned again (this had been a much better idea in his head, had played out so much easier), the force of it lessened by his swaying body. "I trust you, I've spent a lotta tense times around you. An'…you gotta admit, you're good-lookin'. An' 've always wanted ta touch your tattoos." He shuffled closer, Renji seemingly frozen in place as Ichigo's eyes focused intently on his neck, as he slowly raised his hand to trace one of those thick black lines.

"An' I feel like you understand me, better'n mos' people, 'specially people my age. Mos' don't get what 's like to live with death constantly all 'round you, so close you can taste it. You get what it's like to wanna fight and hate it at th' same time. Ta love the adrenaline, the skill, bu' hate why 's bein' used, why 's needed." His eyes never wavered from his fingers, mesmerized as they moved deliberately down Renji's neck, words falling haphazardly from his lips. "You make me feel comfortable, 'n safe, tha's why. Asshole."

Renji's body stayed stock-still even as his head moved down to look at the younger man and, for the first time, seriously consider his confused and drunken, but heartfelt attempt to convey his feelings. Ichigo's hand dropped, his head turned away from Renji's own until the worn dirt track, and finally only the spinning darkness behind his eyelids filled his sight.

"'S okay, nevermind." Even as he spoke those bleak words, Ichigo nuzzled his face against Renji's shoulder, and once again moved the arm Renji had previously clutched for leverage across his broad back.

As he finally broke his silence, Renji's voice was thoughtful, and kinder than normal. "Look, I'm certainly not doin' shit with ya tonight—and ya look like you're gonna black out any time now anyways, so just hold tight, walk with me a little more." Renji grabbed the wrist hanging loosely over his shoulder with a gentler hand than he had used previously.

Ichigo's voice was getting quieter, a small "Mmm," all that answered Renji as he tugged Ichigo and his sluggish body onward.

Renji sighed, "It's not that ya ain't…attractive to me. In more than jus' the physical sense, too. I just…well, I haven't been in any sort of real relationship in longer than I'd like to admit."

"Renji…"

"And it sure as hell doesn't help that you're so goddamn young. Yumi alone would be smirking about me robbin' the cradle for who knows how long. And he prob'ly wouldn't be the worst one."

"Renji, I…"

"Fuck, can ya let a guy finish a sentence? And we're here, anyway." At last, the door of Renji's quarters stood sturdy and reassuring before them, a solid reminder of the rest of the world after the insulated walk back from the bar.

"I don't…feel so good…" Renji grunted as the full force of Ichigo's weight fell against him, then groaned at the solid thwack that sounded as Ichigo's arm slipped from his grasp.

The quiet night seemed to ring in his ears. Renji sighed, bringing his hand up to cover his bloodshot eyes. "Tomorrow morning is gonna be just fuckin' fantastic."

A muffled gurgle rose from Ichigo's position on the ground in front of his living quarters.


	3. Where's the Bathroom?

**Where's the Bathroom? or Adventures in Booze – Part 2**

Ichigo groaned as the thin light leaking through the curtains forced itself through his closed eyelids. The first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar futon he was sleeping on. The second was the wave of nausea that overrode any other thoughts that might have tried to creep through his muddled brain.

"Uuufh, Yamagai-kun?" That bastard was always the one to get him this trashed, but at least he usually had a trashcan ready by him in the morning. And why'd they go back to Yamagai's place? Ichigo's apartment was so close to the bars, and he'd never even seen the inside of Yamagai's apartment before. He brought his hands up to tightly cover his abused eyes. It didn't help the nausea. "I really feel like shit, c'mon Yamagai, where's the bathroom in this place?"

"Who's this Yamagai ya keep yellin' for?"

Ichigo stiffened. Slowly, unwillingly, he peeled his hands away from his eyes, leaving them curving protectively against the sides of his face to block the dim sunlight as much as possible. He could see, though rather blearily, the unmistakable form of Abarai Renji standing over him—nobody else had hair like that.

There was a rushing in his ears, and only one thing left to say. "Bathroom?" Ichigo coughed out. Renji pointed and moved out of the way as Ichigo ran, slipping and stumbling, down the small hall.

It was only as he leaned back from the toilet that Ichigo noticed the thick pounding in his head. "Uoof." He covered his eyes again, hands futilely attempting to ward off further discomfort. He heard rather than saw Renji move to the door of the bathroom. "We in Soul Society, or did you come visiting Karakura?"

Renji leaned against the doorframe and snorted, amusement and irritation shifting equally across his features. "Soul Society, jackass. You're at my place. You don't remember goin' out with the guys?" Amusement was winning.

Ichigo stayed crouched beside the toilet, chest flush with his knees, hands covering his face. A tiny shake of the head, followed by more violent heaving, indicated the answer was no. He gripped the edges of the toilet to steady himself and his body seemed to freeze.

Then, with a slow turn of the head, Ichigo's horrified features were revealed.

" 'Member now?"

His stunned face was answer enough. The sudden, rushing return of memory had done neither his aching head nor his nausea any good.

"So really, who's this kid you're yellin' for?" Renji shuffled a step closer inside the bathroom, curiosity and forced casualness coloring his voice.

Blank eyes continued to stare at him until Renji shifted back against the doorframe in discomfort. After a moment, Ichigo roused himself just enough to say, "I wanna lay down again."

***************

Sleep was fitful for Ichigo, more dozing with the occasional bout of unconsciousness than anything, and Renji's constant presence in the small quarters kept him from any real rest. The futon smelled like Renji. The pillow smelled like Renji. Through his throbbing headache he could hear the Fukutaichou puttering quietly around his home.

The more lucid parts of Ichigo's day were spent trying very hard to sink through the floor. He groaned, slowly turning his face away from the tiny amount of afternoon sun that forced itself through the curtains to bury his face in his arm. Even his damn uniform smelled like Renji.

Ichigo had come to Soul Society with a plan of attack. Starting with his new college experiences and how he had changed, what he had realized about himself, would have been the first step. It was a good way to lead into the more difficult things, and a good way to gauge how his confession would be taken. He had wanted to tell Renji how he felt in a mature, reasonable manner, to keep their friendship the priority while subtly letting him know he wanted more if Renji was interested. He had wanted to show that he could be responsible, that he could handle a real, meaningful relationship despite his relative inexperience.

Getting drunk, groping him in the middle of the street, and passing out had not been on the agenda. The new, improved schedule had yet to be completed, though punching Yumichika seemed like a good place to start. The smirking bastard had fed him cup after cup of sake as he told him all about Shuuhei and Renji's exploits in the Academy, firing up his imagination and libido before sending him home beside the object of his desires with a smile and a solid smack on the ass. At the very least, Yumichika had better be as sick as he was right now.

As Renji's solid footsteps reverberated through the floor towards him, Ichigo jerked, his arm coiling reflexively tighter around his tender head.

"Fer fuck's sake, I ain't gonna hit ya." Renji sounded aggravated.

Cautiously, Ichigo looked up, really speaking to Renji for the first time since he had curled back up in the futon. "You sure about that?"

Exasperation vanished as Renji got a good look at Ichigo's miserable features in the gloom. He snickered, his body relaxing as he sat down next to the rumpled bedding. "Well, for the moment. Didn't say nothin' 'bout later today."

An unexpected smirk stretched Ichigo's mouth wide as he shifted himself up onto his forearms. Renji's ability to put him at ease was unparalleled, was somehow even better than Chad's. "Well, it's not like you could lay a hand on me, anyways. I could beat you anytime, even now." The familiar boasting came out less teasing than he'd intended, his tone a little too edgy.

"Really now?" The tattooed eyebrow rose in playful disbelief, Renji ignoring the tension thickening the air. "So, say I was to open those curtains a little further, eh? What then?"

Ichigo blanched, but his features held firm. "Could still do it." He felt confused, looking up at his friend's cheery face. Renji was acting normal, so normal it was unsettling. The banter, the comfortable distance between them, it was as if nothing had happened last night, but the redhead's knowing face outside the bathroom had said otherwise.

Moving effortlessly, Renji stretched out along the floor, arms behind his head, his yukata pulling flat against the taut muscles of his stomach. "Look, I know ya said some stuff last night ya didn't mean to say. Don' worry about it. It's forgotten already." He was too comfortable, so easily dismissing it.

It pissed him off. All that anxiety, all the frustrated planning, and Renji wanted to shrug and say "nevermind"? Fucker wasn't going to get away that easily. He waited, watching Renji's face with a battlefield sharpness he had not expected. He took care that the words would be clear. "No. I did mean it."

Renji pushed some stray hairs out of his face, sighing. "Look, kid, you're way too young, even if you know what you're getting into. You'd be better off with someone your own age. I mean, isn't it weird to you at all?"

Ichigo twitched, anger and other emotions clouding his eyes. "_I'm_ weird, Renji. Not just a little weird, really fucking weird, even by Soul Society standards. And if I wanna have any kind of relationship that's more than just being fuck-buddies, whoever it is needs to know about all my weird shit." Ichigo shifted, lowering himself back down to the floor, head resting on his arm as he looked at Renji's too-close face.

"It ain't that bad," Renji growled, rolling his eyes, sliding himself just a hair further away. "Ya ain't exactly part of Soul Society, but there're plenty a weirdoes here. Look at Kurotsuchi, that guy's a maniac."

"He also doesn't have an insane hollow loose in his head."

Renji paused, a little taken aback. "Thought you had control a that now," he said carefully.

"Yeah, as much as I can. Doesn't mean I can't still hear him sometimes. Doesn't make the power he gives me any more normal." Ichigo sighed, pressing the heel of his free hand to his forehead, trying to rub away the tension that always sat there. "Doesn't change the way it makes me feel when I use it."

For a moment Renji saw the weight that rested on Ichigo, that never left him. And the desire to replace Ichigo's hand with his own, to ease that troubled brow himself swelled unpredictably within him. He started a little, turning his eyes back to the ceiling.

Ichigo did not relent. He brought his hand away from his forehead and returned his concentration to the conversation at hand. "And what does it matter how old you are? I'm of age, you're sure as hell of age. Isn't that enough? I've never really felt like there was much of a difference between us, anyways." A small, tight smirk stretched his lips. "Unless we're talking about fighting."

Renji snorted. "Back to that, are we? You're crazy if you think I couldn't wipe the floor with ya right now. You're a mess, Yumi made sure a that."

Ichigo's pale face suddenly brightened, eyes tightening with anticipation. "What do you say," he started slowly, "to a little wager?" Renji's immediate response was cut off by Ichigo's raised hand. "We go a couple rounds on the practice grounds, right now. You win, I go home, we don't talk about this again. I win, you owe me at least a chance."

"I…don't know," Renji said, eying Ichigo with sarcasm and just a touch of consideration. "Decidin' this just based on a fight? Ya sure that's a good idea?"

"Why not? Feels like most of my life lately's been decided on the outcome of fights. Just adding one more thing to the list." The strain in Ichigo's arms as he pushed himself up, in his creaking body as he finally rose, helped drive some of the residual throbbing from his head. The rough smirk stretching his face brought back some of the color to his cheeks. "This might be just what I need."

***************

The practice arena of the Sixth was deserted this late in the afternoon, but Renji still felt oddly jumpy. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with another shinigami seeing them going a few rounds, but the possibility that someone else might view this strange fight put him ill-at-ease.

Not that the whole thing wasn't crazy. Renji had to admit Ichigo, who was busy cracking his neck, looked better now that he was outside and moving around; he still had dark rings under his eyes, and that pallor didn't suit him one bit, but he looked better than before.

"Oy, we gonna get started or are you really just all talk?" He swung Zabimaru forward, ignoring his hesitations as best he could. At least he'd get an interesting fight out of this mess, and he was curious to see how Ichigo would fight with his affections supposedly on the line.

One final loud crack sounded in the quiet dirt circle. "You're the one that seems to be doing the talking now." Ichigo's face turned quickly ferocious, all banter thrown aside. "So shut up, and we'll start." His easy stance shifted, and suddenly Ichigo was running at him, blurred with speed as he raised Zangetsu.

The shock of the first blow surprised Renji. Ichigo was not taking it easy, despite his hangover and their agreement to stay in shikai. He shivered a little at the strange grin on Ichigo's face but couldn't help it when his own lips moved to match. This was starting to get interesting. It didn't matter that they were keeping their reiatsu low, this fight was going to be intense and he had missed the way their styles engaged each other.

The whirl of their movements would have been difficult for all but the highest level shinigami in Soul Society to comprehend. Ichigo was as quick as ever, despite the residual alcohol skewing his perceptions. Only the occasional stumble or slip confirmed any weakness, but he was still swinging Zangetsu with deadly force. The deep sweep of his emotions was keeping his eyes clear, for the most part.

The frustration, the confusion, the shame he pretended not to feel—he was taking it all out on Renji, but he couldn't bring himself to care as his arms moved again. Zangetsu sliced through the air where Zabimaru was supposed to be, Ichigo noticing too late the sword curving around his side. He grunted lightly as the sharp fang of Zabimaru cut first into his uniform and then into his flesh, dragging a blooming red line around his torso. It was teasing, it was almost a caress. If it had been Renji's hand instead of his sword, it would have been an invitation.

"First blood's mine," Renji called lightly, laughter in his voice. Ichigo suddenly blanched as the hangover and the cruelty of that tone pulsed over him in turns. The possible relationship he had been longing for, even to the point of pretending for a while in another's arms, was being taken from him piece by piece and Renji laughed as if it meant nothing. He ripped away the torn, restricting fabric of his haori, and in a moment of blinding rage shot towards Renji's casually waiting figure.

"Too slow!" Ichigo snarled as Renji tried to jerk Zabimaru up to block. The tip of Zangetsu slipped by the upright teeth to snag on Renji's headband, slashing it apart while lightly scratching the tattooed forehead beneath. The shock in those deep red eyes as matching blood snaked its way down the length of Renji's nose made Ichigo smile as he jumped back.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Renji shouted, anger warming his voice as he wiped the blood away.

"Fighting, jackass. And I'd say we're even now."

Renji's own snarl warned Ichigo before the strike as Zabimaru's slash went just a hair too wide. Finally getting under Renji's skin brightened his attitude, and he chuckled as he slipped by the attack and lightly slid his blade under the cord holding back that unmistakable crimson hair.

As he was blinded by red, Renji couldn't help but shout, "Playin' dirty, now, are we?"

"Just playing, I'd say." And suddenly Ichigo was laughing, zipping around the practice area while Renji tried futilely to sweep his hair out of his eyes. He took advantage of Renji's state to swoop in and strategically cut through his haori until the black outer layer peeled back, revealing the much thinner, white inner layer.

"It ain't just a game, jackass!" Renji was not amused, turning to catch Ichigo in the stomach with the flat of his blade as the last vestiges of his haori fell about him. He did not hold back, and Ichigo was choking and gasping as he back-peddled quickly, the blood abandoning his face for much-abused lungs. Renji didn't know why he was so angry, and he didn't care, either. "What're ya _doin'_?"

"Trying. To _win_!" Ichigo spat, bent double over his gut as he stared up through his own hair. "What are you doing? You were treating this like nothing, like it was any other day of sparring. So fine, you wanna play, we'll fucking play! What the fuck was the point of this if you're not taking it seriously? I'm not good at much besides fighting, I'm sure as hell not good with words, and I'm trying to show you I can handle you, despite my age and whatever else is wrong with me!"

Ichigo partially uncurled, panting, but no longer wan and stumbling. Blood streaked his torso from the slash above his ribs. "Unless this isn't about age or anything else. If this is just about you not wanting me, don't spare my feelings." He straightened up, gripping Zangetsu's hilt with white knuckles. "I'm not some idiot child you can fool with a few words!" The cutting glare couldn't completely chase away the anxiety clouding his eyes.

Renji shoved his hair out of his face, frustrated and overwhelmed. "You ever stop to think maybe I'm protecting ya, you idiot! All ya talk about is how messed up you are—ya don't think I've got problems, too? I ain't as strong as ya seem to think, I don't know how to make things better for ya. But I know how not to make 'em worse! I ain't good for ya right now, I ain't good for anybody!"

Almost growling as his face twisted with a bitter aggravation, Ichigo stalked forward, blood and sweat forging slick tracks through the dust coating his body. He disappeared from Renji's sight, his face appearing again three inches from his own. "And who're you to decide that? I know what's good for me," he gripped Renji's chin roughly, jerking it down, "I know what I want!"

Their lips crashed together with a fierce desperation that Renji hadn't been expecting. He hadn't been expecting a lot of things, particularly how Ichigo would be able to affect him, how the battle-scarred young body pushed insistently against his and the clumsy lips pressed against his own would be able to elicit such a response from him.

He knew, in that moment, when Zabimaru fell from his hand and his arms moved to crush Ichigo's bloody chest against the damp white fabric that covered his own, that it didn't matter who had really won the rounds—not that they would have been able to decide, anyways. What mattered was the body in his arms, the hands clutching at his face with a ferocity akin to the way they held a sword.

When they finally parted both had calmed somewhat, Ichigo wobbling as his body's true state finally pushed past the adrenaline that had been keeping it at bay. Renji grabbed hold of a sweat-slick arm and pulled it around his shoulders. "Well, ain't this familiar." He bent to pick up Zabimaru, letting shikai fall away to slide him back into place.

"I didn't say we were done." Ichigo was gasped roughly through his words.

"We're done enough." The younger man began to struggle, slipping out of Renji's grasp. "We'll see about the other stuff, okay? Fer fuck's sake," he muttered, trying to push his unruly hair out of his eyes again as Ichigo finally let himself be supported, "I hate it when my hair gets in my eyes."

"'We'll see' had better mean I get my chance. Besides," Ichigo said, eyeing his handiwork, "I'd say I won this sparring match."

"And who's carryin' ya outta here?" Renji sighed, the bemused and beleaguered look on his face satisfying Ichigo enough for the moment.

"I knew all I needed to do was kiss you and you'd give in," Ichigo said smugly, despite his rough breathing and leaning so heavily on Renji's shoulder. Zangetsu's tip was dragging through the rocky ground, leaving a trail of their path off the practice grounds.

Renji rolled his eyes as he helped Ichigo lift his sword into place on his back. "Yeah, yeah, c'mon, we're goin' to get cleaned up, then we're goin' back to my place."

Ichigo looked up, raising his eyebrow with half a grin on his face, but Renji just snorted, though he had to look away to hide the blush that rose in his cheeks.


End file.
